


Perfect Sunny Days

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-14
Updated: 2010-05-14
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun is hanging high in the blue, cloudless sky and the Impala is shining like never before but maybe that’s just Dean’s imagination as he leans against a tree on the outskirts of the small field, watching the people bustle about. It’s a neighborhood party in a small town and it looks like just about everyone was invited, clustered into this tiny little park. Dean watches it all from a distance and tries to rub away the ache in his chest because this is Sam’s dream that Dean’s staring at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Sunny Days

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

**Title:** Perfect Sunny Days  
**Author:** [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** Gen  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Small spoilers for episode 5.22.  
**Summary:** The sun is hanging high in the blue, cloudless sky and the Impala is shining like never before but maybe that’s just Dean’s imagination as he leans against a tree on the outskirts of the small field, watching the people bustle about. It’s a neighborhood party in a small town and it looks like just about everyone was invited, clustered into this tiny little park. Dean watches it all from a distance and tries to rub away the ache in his chest because this is Sam’s dream that Dean’s staring at.  
**Word Count:** 1700  
**A/N:** Because that ending sucked. ~_~ And I'm a sap.

  
The sun is hanging high in the blue, cloudless sky, looking as perfect as a Norman Rockwell setting and the cars sitting next to the tiny park in the center of town gleam brightly in its light. The Impala is shining like never before but maybe that’s just Dean’s imagination as he leans against a tree on the outskirts of the small field, his face dappled with the sunlight filtering through the trees. He watches from a distance while the crowd of people in the park move about.

Boys scream and giggle as they chase after a bright blue ball, kicking it from one end of the field to the other as they roll and tumble in the grass, staining their clothes bright green. Off to the side, there’s a little girl in a pale pink dress with matching ribbons in her hair picking flowers for her mother and another girl in yellow thinking about leaving the doll tea party to join her. Two more are playing in the tiny sandbox, making castles and moats and dragons and still more kids are clustered around the tiny jungle gym, swinging from the bars.

A few of their mothers are over by the picnic tables, hauling out tubs of food and setting them out into nice, neat, orderly rows. The one in the purple sundress and matching floppy hat has got a cooler of pop that she’s moving into place and the woman in the jeans is hauling out more bags of hotdogs and chicken wings to take over to where two men are laughing over the grill. It smells like barbeque, sweet and tangy, as one man turns over the food sitting on the grate while another heads over to the coolers where more men are standing to grab a beer. He stops and talks for a minute, joking about the chances of a guy’s favorite team before popping the top and taking his first long swig. There’s another dad over pushing his daughter on the swings and it makes Dean’s heart lurch sickeningly.

It’s a neighborhood party in a small town and it looks like just about everyone was invited, clustered into this tiny little park. There are mounds of paper plates and plastic cups on the red picnic tables, all set up and ready for someone to claim them next to the piles and piles of napkins because somebody’s thought this through. There’s already enough food to feed an army but Dean knows that they’re not even halfway done setting up. They’ve still got the crackers and the cheeses and the little packets of Jell-O cups sitting to the side, waiting to be arranged.

Dean can see it all from his position under the tree. He’s just a few yards away, rubbing his chest to try and soothe the imaginary ache. It won’t help, though; he knows that. There’s a woman leaning against a tree a few feet away from him, watching over the kids as they play. She pushes her long black hair behind her ear in an effort to keep it out of her eyes as it blows in the gentle summer breeze and she looks so perfect and content it makes him not want to breathe. He knows it’s not Lisa—he left her and Ben and their perfect little world behind months ago—and he’s knows it’s a silly dream anyway but that doesn’t make him want it any less.

He wishes that he had the right to walk up to her and wrap his arms around her waist and lay his head on her shoulder. He wants one or two or maybe all of those kids to be his. He wants to be laughing with the guys, be cooking for the neighborhood. Be over there pushing the little girl on the swing or making sure the daredevil on the bars doesn’t fall off. It hurts to watch what he can’t have because at one point, this might have, could have, been his.

If only he wasn’t too messed up inside to keep it. Dean had figured out a long time ago that the white picket life just wasn’t in his deck of cards but that didn’t mean he didn’t fool himself into thinking otherwise for a bit. He’d needed…something. Anything. Whatever would dull the pain.

He’d made that devil’s bargain of a promise no matter if it felt like the same one he’d given to Death and he’d stuck to it. For awhile, his life had been all football games and barbeques and freshly-made pie. He’d taken Ben to little league games and helped Lisa put on backyard picnics and he’d put himself into small town life. For awhile, it’d even been good—it hadn’t made him forget but it had distracted him, just a little. It didn’t take long, though, for him to realize something important.

It didn’t feel real. None of it.

He could have all the warm times in the world, all the friendly neighbors the lower 48 had to offer throwing perfect little parties, his own spot of sunshine in the big back yard of a perfect house and a beautiful woman smiling at him as she set out dinner but it wouldn’t make a difference. Because that isn’t what Dean needs.

Maybe he was just too fucked up to need those kinds of things. He’s never been normal and maybe this is just one more way that’s true. There’s only one thing Dean needs and he jumped into a damn pit to Hell and left Dean kneeling on the ground above him. Dean would have gladly thrown himself in right beside, tumbled all the way back to damnation. He’d wanted to. Oh, he’d wanted to. Only Cas and a tiny little promise stopped him.

This is Sam’s dream that Dean’s staring at. It was always Sam’s dream—to have something ‘normal.’ And Dean was never quite able to figure out why. He didn’t know why Sam needed that and Dean didn’t. It’d been Sam that’d wanted all this crap—the wife, the two point five kids, the dog, the white picket fence and the all-around American fucking dream complete with apple pie on top. To Dean, though, that’d all just been window dressing.

He didn’t need one of those perfect little houses he can see just beyond the treeline. The Impala was home enough. He didn’t need the little white picket fence to tell him what was good and what wasn’t. All Dean had needed had been wrapped up in one person and a damn car. And apparently that’d just been asking too damn much.

Dean’s well aware that it’s hard to enjoy the little things in life when you’re missing your soul. He could playact all he wanted—he could sit at a family table and eat dinner with people who’s company he actually enjoyed, he could play catch with the neighborhood kids and do all the things for them that he never got to do for Sam, and he could share Lisa’s bed at night—but in the end, he knew just how empty he was inside. Everyone deserved better than him. They didn’t need a broken, hollow shell clogging up their life.

So here he is, staring at a picture-perfect barbeque and wondering what it would be like if he could actually be part of the scene. Wondering what it would be like if he was normal instead of this messed up wreck of a man. He leans against the tree, tilting his head against it as he watches the kids play in front of him. He’s wearing his dad’s old coat but it’s not cold outside. It’s warm and sunshiny and he probably shouldn’t need a jacket but yet here he is, pulling it tighter around himself. It’s a little ironic because Dad hadn’t even really meant to give the coat to him—it just kind of happened that way. When Dad had tossed it at Dean that crisp fall day up in Montana, he hadn’t had a clue what it would lead to, guaranteed.

It’s crazy how these things turn out.

Dean sighs and he doesn’t jump when a hand lands on his shoulder. He reaches up and grabs it, holding it in place. “You can if you want,” a voice rumbles in his ear and he knows that it’s not talking about this little scene here and now but rather a house and a woman and a life he left behind a long time ago.

Dean closes his eyes, shutting out the kids and the families and the warm, happy sunshine and just focuses on the lone hand on his shoulder. “No,” he says.

“No?” he’s asked.

Dean turns his back on the whole picture-perfect moment and meets the big worried eyes staring down at him. “Why would I need that?” he asks and it’s the truth. Why would he ever need summer picnics with the neighbors and little leagues and interior decorating when he’s got all he needs right in front of him? He smiles, slow and easy, feeling that hollow feeling start to float away, filling with warmth. He jerks his head towards the Impala. “Get in the car, Sam.”

“You sure?” Sam asks, glancing back at the American dream behind them, at the happily playing families.

Dean doesn’t bother to look back. He doesn’t need it. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He gives in to a whim and leans his head against Sam’s shoulder, just reassuring himself that Sam is there. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he says, half tease and half serious. He points back over his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want that?”

“Not going anywhere,” Sam repeats automatically, no hesitation in his voice as his hand rests tentatively on Dean’s arm.

“You sure?” Dean asks, drawing this out, and Sam’s grin is worth a million perfect sunny days.

He shoves Dean towards the parking lot with a little laugh that makes Dean’s heart twist again in a completely different way. “Get in the car, Dean.”

The Impala gleams in the warm sunlight under the blue, cloudless sky and Dean can’t think of anything else he could possibly want.  



End file.
